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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25555969">A Little Luxury</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/deimosandphobos/pseuds/deimosandphobos'>deimosandphobos</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Outer Banks (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Hurt JJ (Outer Banks), JJ (Outer Banks) Deserves Better, JJ (Outer Banks)-centric, Luke Maybank's A+ Parenting, Pogues (Outer Banks)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:35:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,311</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25555969</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/deimosandphobos/pseuds/deimosandphobos</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>One-shot. JJ POV from when after he leaves his fight with Luke and decides to buy a hot-tub.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Little Luxury</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>JJ stumbled down the dirt road, his arms wrapped loosely around his abdomen as he tried to control the shaking that was rattling his body. He walked along in a daze, barely registering the metallic taste of blood that filled his mouth or the sharp pain jolting through his torso with every step. After tearing out of the front door of his house, he’d leaped onto his bike and rode down a couple of roads before the tears blurring his vision had made it impossible to drive. He’d ditched the bike against the edge of a tree and was now wandering aimlessly down the hot, dirt road.  </p>
<p><em> W </em> <em> orthless piece of shit.  </em> </p>
<p>His father’s voice echoed angrily through the ringing of his skull.  </p>
<p>He’d been walking for…10 minutes? An hour? He wasn’t sure. The dirt road in front of him blurred into a flat, brown haze as tears obscured his vision. <em> He </em> <em>  had </em> <em>  just wanted to do the right thing.  </em>  </p>
<p>His sneaker caught on a rock and he cursed as he tripped forward and caught himself, arms outstretched. His torso screamed with pain and he slammed a fist into the ground. He paused, feeling his chest heave with anger and then slammed his fist into the ground again, feeling his knuckles crack open and bleed. Slowly, he drew himself up into a sitting position, staring at the back of his hands, which were a mangled mess of blood and dirt.  </p>
<p><em> He’d almost fucking killed him.  </em> </p>
<p>He felt his mind retract at the thought, pulling into itself like a cocoon. He pressed his open palm into the dirt below, trying the shake the memory of the feeling of the wrench in his hand. The sharp pain digging at his ribs reminded him how painfully sober he was.  </p>
<p>He reached into his pocket to pull out a half-finished joint that he’d rolled earlier that morning, hoping it would help the shaking. The lump of cash in his pocket dug shamelessly into his thigh as he leaned forward, cupping his hand over the joint, and lit it.  </p>
<p>As his brain began to numb and take the edge off the pain, he subconsciously reached up to thumb across the healing cut raised along his check-bone. Secretly, he worried that maybe Rafe was right – with all these scars and cuts, he really was starting to look more like his dad. He had never believed that they looked anything alike, but people that had known Luke when he was a teenager said that JJ was a dead ringer to his father. JJ supposed that 20 more years of drinking and smoking and they’d probably look alike again.  </p>
<p>Taking another long drag of the joint, he stared at a small lizard disappearing into the rough brush crowding onto unevenly into the road. His arms dangled between his legs as he sat, unsure of where to go or what to do next. No way in hell he was going back home, and he was sure that none of his friends wanted to see him after the way he took off this morning after leaving Barry’s. A pang of guilt flitted briefly through his stomach.  </p>
<p>He knew they were right, of course. Robbing a drug-dealer is never what you would call a smart idea. But he couldn’t take it anymore – he was just so damn tired of being stepped on. Anytime they caught even the smallest break, it got ripped away. When Rafe and Topper had attacked Pope, it was one of the Pogues that had ended up in jail. When they’d found the Royal Merchant, no treasure to be seen. When they finally managed to track down the gold, Barry had shown up immediately to take it all away. <em> Coke </em> <em> -dealing piece of shit.  </em> </p>
<p> He could feel how the others were getting tired of him with and of his “macho bullshit”, as Ki would say. He was tired of being around himself.  </p>
<p>But they didn’t get it. Carrying around a gun – it was the only way to even the score. The only way to give them back just a little bit of fairness. Feeling the weight of the gun in his hand when he had picked it up out of that safe, it was the first time in a long time that JJ had felt like he had some control.  </p>
<p>He stretched backward, absorbing the warmth and solidity of the road as he stared at the mess of green canopy and blue sky sprawled above him.   </p>
<p><em> Paradise on earth.  </em>That’s what they called this place.  </p>
<p>Maybe for the kooks over on figure eight -- for the people who didn’t have to fight tooth and nail just to barely scrape by. He’d spent his whole life steering million-dollar boats and teaching whiney, little rich kids how to sail while he subsisted on moldy bread and crashing on a ratty couch.  </p>
<p><em> Worthless piece of shit. </em>   </p>
<p>That’s all he was ever going to be. Everyone in town knew it, even John B knew it. He’d called him out on it that morning, and JJ had felt something snap inside of his chest. It had taken everything in him to not hit him, and he had felt a deep sense of shame rise in his chest as he had slammed John B into a wall the same way Luke had done to him a hundred times. Every beer and every joint reminded him that he was slowly turning into the thing he hated, but he couldn’t stop. It’s like he could see the path that he was headed down with no control to stop it. A train-car locked into a path of petty felony and alcoholism. <em> Sure </em> <em>  is g </em> <em> ood to </em> <em>  be </em> <em>  a Maybank.  </em> </p>
<p>He took another long drag of the joint, trying to mellow out his brain and stop thinking. He focused on the feeling of the ground around him and the rise and fall of his chest.  </p>
<p>He supposed that he should be worried that his father was going to come looking for him, but he couldn’t make himself care. The painful buzzing of his brain began to melt away as a warm numbness flooded through his senses. A group of ducks flew lazily through the trees, their low quacks disappearing into the thick canopy of the forest. He looked down at his hands, noting their steadiness. <em> JJ Maybank – king of figuring out how to relax. </em> Considering the kind of life he lived, it was a skill formed more out of necessity than anything else.  </p>
<p><em> Fuck him.  </em> </p>
<p>The thought growled through his mind and he pushed himself back up into a seated position, his white t-shirt now covered in the loose, light brown dirt of the road. <em> Fuck him and his goddamn sale at  </em> <em> Dickies. </em> Like Luke was entitled to anything of JJ’s. He’d never done anything else but try to scare him – it was the Pogues that shared their food with him and gave him a place to stay. The Pogues had been more of a family to him than Luke had ever been.   </p>
<p><em> You know what? Fuck it.  </em> </p>
<p>Why should he use the money for restitution? JJ had gotten that money the same way he had everything else in his life – by himself. He'd tried to do the right thing and had again gotten fucked over. He was a minor – if he didn’t pay back the restitution, it would be on his dad’s head, not his own. If anything, this was the least that his father owed him for all the shit that he’d put him through the years. Call it reparations.  </p>
<p>His father didn’t deserve this money. And wasn’t JJ entitled to a little luxury once in a while? </p>
<p>Making up his mind, he stood up and started walking back towards his bike. A minute later, he was buzzing down the dirt road with resolution, headed towards town.  </p>
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